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THE      MINOR     DRAMA 

THE    ACTING    EDITION. 
No.   CXXII. 


WIfflllG  A  HUSBAND ; 

OR, 

•SE^V^ffiN^S    THE    INf^IjSr. 


A  BURLETTA,  IN  ONE  ACT. 


BY  MACFARREN. 


TO  WKICH  ARC   ADDED 

i  DeiOTlpUon  of  the  Costume — Ca^t  of  the  Characters— Kntranees  and  Bxlts- 

Belative  Positions  of  the  Performers  on  the  Stage,  and  tha 

vhole  of  the  Stage  Biuiness. 


AS    PERFOKMED    AT    THE    PRINCIPAL 

LONDON   AND   AMERICAN    THEATRES. 


NEW     YORK: 

S  A  ^1  U  E  L     FRENCH, 

122  Nassau  Street,  (Up  Stairs.) 


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UMVERSITY  OF  CAT,IFORNU 
SAM  A  13  A  KHAR  A 


WINNING   A    HUSBAND; 

OR,  SEVEN'S   THE    MAIN. 


ACT   I. 

SCENE  I. — A  Room  in   a   Hotel,  in   London — on  each 

side  are  three  Doors,   leading   to   xeparate  aparlments, 

and  one  in   the  centre,  leading  to  Lucindn's  chamber — - 

-  they  are  numbered  from  one    to    seven,   Lucinda'.s,  C,  D, 

F.,  being  the  seventh — a  harp,  music-book,  ^c. 

LuciNDA  discovered  seated  at  a  work'tabte,  R.,  Davy 
waiting,  L. 

Luc.  Well,  David,  have  you  procured  the  articles  I 
sent  you  for  ? 

Davy.   E'es,  Madame  Luc.inda. 

Luc.  Don't  Lucinda  nie !  You  know,  David,  your 
old  master,  my  uncle,  always  called  me  Lucy. 

Davy.  E'es,  madam  :  but  my  new  master,  your  brother, 
says  I  mun  make  you  a  cinder,  or  he'll  beat  me  as  black 
as  a  coal. 

Luc.  Ah,  bless  the  man  !  nothing  will  go  down  with 
him,  unless  it  has  a  romantic  name. 

Davy.  Noa,  madam;  one  would  think  he  were  a  cler- 
gyman instead  of  a  knigiU-baronite,  he  be  so  nation  fond 
of  christening  folks, — ay,  and  things,  too,  madam.  Do 
you  know,  he  calls  his  boots,  buskins  ;  his  single-breasted 
coat,  a  doublet ;  and  his  cossack  trowsers,  trunk-hose. 
[Laitgliiiiji.]   He,  he,  he! 

Luc.  in  short,  David,  no  matter  to  him  whether  it  be 
antique  or  modern,  so  it's  high-sounding  it's  enough  for 
him. 

Davy.  E'es,  ma'am,  that's  tlie  reason  he  calls  the  top 
rooms  in  the  old  mansion-house,  the  supereminences; 


12  WINNING   A   HUSBAND.  [ACT  I. 

the  chambers,  the  dorinousitories  ;  the  diningparlour, 
the  refractory  ;  and  the  little  green-house  at  tite  back, 
the  conserve  ol  rository. 

Luc.  Well,  David,  you  remember  my  old  school-fel* 
low,  Miss  Jenny  Transit,  whom  I  expect  from  the  coun- 
try immediately  ? 

Davy,  E'es,  ma'am,  I  remember  her :  she  left  me  a 
keepsake  last  time  she  were  at  the  mansion-house;  and, 
Baving  your  presence,  I  think  it's  very  likely,  I  owe 
you 

Luc.   Oh,  dear,  not  in  the  least,  David. 

Dary.  I  axes  pardon,  ma'am,  but  really  I  think  you 
helped  her  to  soap  the  edge  of  the  stairs,  by  which  means 
I  got  a  cut  of  the  shin,  and  set  your  uncle's  punch  a 
wimming  in  the  wrong  place  :  however,  I  bearcs  no 
malice  ;  you  ■were  both  very  kind  to  me,  and,  I  think, 
Borry  for  your  crueltyation.  I  shall  never  forget  how 
you  applied  the  paper  and  brandy.  [^Aside.]  The  former 
«f  which  went  into  my  pocket,  and  the  latter  down  my 
throat. 

Luc.  Well,  David,  we  intend  to  play  my  brother  a 
sort  of  a  hoax  to-day,  and  endeavour,  if  possible,  to  cure 
his  romantic  propensities.  Now,  we  may  want  a  little 
of  your  assistance,  David  ;  can  we  trust  you  ? 

Davy.  Certainly,  ma'am.  Mrs.  Doublechalk  does  not 
mind  trusting  me  a  pint  or  two,  so  I  think  you  mun  take 
my  word  on  this  pint;  and,  by  the  honour  of  a  caviller, 
as  master  says — [Double  hwck,  L.  d.,  Davy  npens  it.]  Oddii 
bobs!  ma'am,  somebody's  coming  up-stairs.  As  I  do 
Jive,  it  be  Miss  Jenny  ;  her  cheeks  are  as  rosy  as  the 
cheeks  of  a  roarer,  and  her  eyes  sparkle  like  briglit 
fibbers,  as  my  master  would  say. 

Enter  Jenny  Transit,  in  a  travelling-dreu,  L.  D. 

Jen.  [Cror.sivg  to  c]  Ah,  my  dearest  Lucy  ! 

Luc.  Jenny,  my  dear,  welcome  to  London. 

Je7i.  Lucy,  my  love,  welcome  to  a  far  more  friendly 
place — my  bosom  !  [T/ieiy  embrace, 

Diicy.  [Aiide.]  I  supposes  he'll  be  taking  me  next  to  her 
place.     Miss  Jenny — Miss 

Jen.  What,  my  old  frieii  J,  David!  How  d'ye  do, 
David? — Very  v^ ell,  are  you  f  How's  your  shin,  David? 
—Quite  well  1— That's  right.  You  see,  David,  I  liaVe 
not  forgotten  my  old  tricks. 

Davy.  Noa,  Miss  Jenny,  nor  I  neither. 


SCENE  1.3  WINNING  A  HUSBAND.  l3 

Luc.  How  did  you  traveP 

Jen.  ()1«,  in  very  excellent  company.     A  fat  dowajer, 
a  country  bride,  a  spruce  old  maid,  a  half  pay  ollicer, 
and  a  carcass-butcher,  of  Leadenhall  iMarket. 
Luc.  Did  \ou  bring  no  lut'S^'n** ' 

Jen.  Oil,  yes;  I  put  up  a  few  (hings  according  to  your 
command.     I  left  them  below  wiih  the  hostess. 

Luc.  David,  be  so  good  as  to  place  Miss  Transit's 
trunk  in  my  room,  and  be  ready  when  I  ring. 

[Lticiuda  and  J  envy  go  tip,  R. 
Diiry.  E'es,  ma'am,  I'ze  lake  care.  There's  a  couple 
of  odd  ones  that  make  as  pretty  a  pair  as  ever  were  seen. 
Lots  of  mischief,  I  dare  say.  Oh,  bless  'em  !  they're 
two  merry  souls  ;  though,  if  master  were  here,  I  dare 
say  he'll  call  'em  heavenly  bodies.  [Exit  Uaiv,  l.  d. 

Jt^n,  Well,  my  dear  Lucy,  how's  this  quizzical  knight- 
errant  of  ours, — as  moody  and  perverse  as  ever  ? 

Luc.  A  large  estate,  plenty  of  money,  and  the  title  of 
Sir,  has  turned  his  he.id  a  little;  but  then,  my  dear 
Jenny,  his  heart  is  still  in  the  right  place.  He  has  been 
now  these  two  years  on  the  continent ;  has  seen  much 
that  he  never  suspected,  and  heard  a  great  deal  he  did 
not  understand  ;  he  therefore  thinks  all  his  old  fashions, 
habits,  and  connexions,  because  they  are  unlike  what  he 
has  recently  mixed  with,  utterly  unbearable,  improper, 
and  disagreeable. 

Jen.  And  so,  having  forgotten  the  vows  and  promises 
made  to  your  humble  servant,  he  claps  an  advertisement 
into  the  papers,  in  hopes  nf  forming  a  more  amiable  con- 
nexion. 

Luc.  [Taking  the  newspaper  from  the  table,]  Yes,  here  it 
is  ;  have  you  read  it? 

Jtti.  No:  let  nie  see.  [Reads.']  '^  To  the  Female  Sei.  A 
ladu  of  good  familii,  unexceptionable  morals,  respectable  con- 
nexions, and  amiable  temper,  whose  education  and  accomplish- 
ments are  of  a  liberal  description,  and  qnaHty  Iter  to  adorn  a 
superior  situation  in  society,  may  bear  of  an  engagement  t<^'  lift, 
with  a  young  man  of  character  and  title,  by  application  (pi:st 
paid)  to  Q.  X.,  Ctarendm  Hotel.  The  Ailverliser's  motiie  for 
tlie  present  address  is,  tofoima  matrimonial  alliance  with  a  lady 
superior  to  the  ordinary  run  of  her  sex.  No  property  is.  there- 
fore, expected  irr  desired  ;  and  the  greatest  secresu  and  delicacx) 
may  be  relied  on.'"  [Laughiui;.]  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Upon  my 
Word,  he  is  far  from  being  scrupulous.  If  he  can  meet 
wiiii  good  family,  good  morals,  amiable  temper,  genteel 
B 


14  WINNING   A  HUSBAND.  [aCT  I. 

connexions,  superior  understaiidin<:,  and  refined  accom- 
plishments, it  is  all  he  requins  ;  very  moderate,  indeed. 

Lnc.  U  ell,  my  dear  Jenny,  I  iiave  answered  the 
ad^-eitisement  in  various  hands,  and  have  received 
liis  replies  tu  them;  and  the  object  of  your  visit  to 
London  is  to  pay  your  respects  to  him  in  the  various 
characters  is  which  1  have  addressed  him.  Here  are 
his  letters;  to-Uay  is  appoint  d  for  him  to  see  them  all, 
and,  if  any  strangers  arrive,  David  will  manage  them  to 
suit  our  purpose. 

Jen.  Then,  my  good  Sir  Roger,  have  at  you. 

Luc.  Oh,  for  goodness  sake,  mind  you  don't  accost 
biin  by  that  title  ;  he  is  no  longer  Sir  lioger,  but  has 
elegantized  it  into  Sir  lioderick  ;  has  re-christened 
me  Lucinda ;  calls  his  horse  Bucephalus ;  his  grey- 
hounds, Acteon  and  Diana;  and,  in  short,  has  nev7' 
named  the  whole  of  his  family,  except  our  friend  David, 
who,  out  of  respect  to  science  and  philosophy,  he  still 
continues  to  call  Davy. 

Jen.  Well,  I  will  endeavour  to  recollect  his  new  no- 
menclature, and  attack  him  with  all  my  forces. 

Luc.  \V  hy,  my  dear  girl,  if  there  be  a  woman  in  the 
world  equal  to  the  task  you  have  undertaken,  Jenny 
Transit  is  she.  The  education  you  have  received,  in 
the  idea  of  making  you  a  governess,  and  the  variety  of 
scenes  in  which  you  have  figured,  will  at  least  qualify 
you  to 

Jen.  To  undertake  Ihe  government  of  your  simple — I 
beg  pardon,  your  romantic  brother.  I'll  at  least  not 
lose  him  for  wanl  of  an  effort ;  for  'tis  far  worse  to  lead 
apes  below,  than  to  manage  a  monkey  here. 

Sir  li.    [CtiUin<i  uilhoiit,  R.J    Ddvy  ' 

Jtn.   Odso  '   I  hear  him  coming. 

Luc.  Away  to  m\  room  !  Away  !  I'll  follow  you  instantly. 

Jen.  Now  then,  Don  Roderick,  I'vie  tried  sincerity  and 
constancy  in  vain.  Let  us  see  w  hat  changes  and  decep- 
tion can  effect.     I  Exit  into  Lucinda  s  chamber.  No.  7,  C.  D.  P. 

Sir  R.  [^li'itliout,  R.]  Davy,  I  say,  where,  in  the  name 
of  philosophy,  are  jou  loitering]     Why,  Davy,  I  say  ! 

Enter  SiR  Roderick  Strangewavs,  at  the  stage-door,  a. 

Sir  R.  Curse  the  fellow,  he's  as  difTicult  to  find  as  the 
philosopher's  stone  or  the  perpetual  motion,  and  one 
needs  the  forbearance  of  patience  on  a  monument  to  en- 
dure his  procrastination  and  disobedience.      Luciada, 


SCENE  I.]  WINNING  A  HUSBAND.  16 

my  dear,  have  you  sent  him  abroad  on  any  embassy  ?  I 
know  he's  your  charge-daflTaires. 

Luc.  No,  my  dear  biotlier,  he  was  here  this  minute. 
I'll  rin'^  the  belL  [Kmgh  U 

Sir  R.  Ay\,  do  ring  the  alarm-hell,  and  bid  the  lazy 
vassal  approach  his  liege  lord. 

Enter  Davy,  at  the  stage-dcnr,  L.,  eating  bread  and  cheese. 

Sir  B.  So,  siirah,  you  are  not  to  be  found  vvbefl  wanted: 
in  ambuscade,  I  suppose. 

Duty.  Noa,  sir,  1  were  in  the  pantry. 

Sir  R.  The  buttery,  you  varlet ! 

Davy.  Noa,  sir,  it  were  the  cheesery  ;  I  were  taking  a 
snack  of  bread  and  cheese  4  I  did  but  stop  to  wet  my 
vvhistle  with  a  drop  of 

Sir  R.  Kare  Faleroain. 

Davy.  Noa,  sir,  it  were  rare  Barclay  and  Perkins. 

Sir  R.  Weil,  sir,  now  that  you  have  stocked  that 
-depot  of  good  things,  your  hungry  stomach,  have  the 
goodness  to  relieve  me  of  my  beaver.  [7'u/iW  off  his  hat, 
■and  gives  it  to  Davy.]  and  my  baton  ;  [^Gining  his  wuJkiiig- 
cane.]  deposit  tliem  in  my  robery,  in  your  quality  of 
page  ;  then  establish  yourself  at  the  outer  portal,  in  your 
capacity  of  warder,  and,  when  the  fair  damsels  whom  I 
expect  arrive,  in  your  office  of  marshal,  usher  them  into 
the  presence. 

Davy.  E'es,  sir.  [Aside.']  And,  I  suppose,  if  I  don't  be 
graceful  when  I  hand  the  pretty  creatures  up,  he'll  take 
good  care  to  foot  me  down.  [Eiit  at  the  slage-dnar,  L. 

Sir  R.  \\  ell,  my  dear  Lucinda,  "  this  is  the  awful  day^ 
big  with  the  fate  of  Cato  and  of  Rome."  Here  I  shall 
ijivouac  amongst  a  host  of  beauty — here  I  shall  be  encom- 
passed in  an  arcana  of  loveliness — here  I  shall  revt-l  in  a 
concatenation  of  intellectual  energy  and  supereniincnt 
accomplishments,  'ihis  will  be  my  garden  of  Eden — my 
Mahoniedau  Paradise — my  salon  d'amour! 

Luc-  La,  brother,  1  wish  you'd  leave  off  this  unintel- 
ligible jargon,  gathered  from  magazines,  novels,  old 
plays,  and 

Sir  R.  Sister,  forbear!  Lovely  I.ucinda,  be  taciturn. 
It  is  the  fashion,  now-a-days,  for  us  of  the  ton  to  use  a 
language  perfectly  ditferent  from  those  of  the  canaille  ; 
and  shall  1  be  blamed  for  aspiring  to  a  style  of  diction 
superior  to  the  slang  of  fashionable  life  ?  shall  I  be  rated 
far  using  the  language  of  poetry  and  fable, — a  language 
b2 


16  WINNING  A   HUSBAND.  [ACT  T. 

rendered  sacred  and  venerable  by  the  dust  of  ages  f — '• 
Forbid  it,  Chaucer,  Cervantes,  and  (;orneille  ! — Forbid 
it,  Sliakspeare,  Dante, and  Lope  He  Vega'  And,  oh,  ye 
modern  antiques,— >e  patriarchs  in  cliitdhood,  forbid  it, 
De  Genlis,  Horace  VValpole,  and  Mrs.  Kadclilfe ! 
"  Forbid  it,  heaven,  and  forbid  it,  man!" 

Luc.  M'ell,  really, brother,  this  travelling  and  leisure 
have  quite  spoiled  you.  When  wewere  at  the  farmhouse, 
in  my  poor  father's  life-time,  you  were  something  like  a 
rational  being;  then  we  heard  the  old  curate  preach 
twice  every  Sunday  ;  then  a  wake  or  a  fair  were  the 
greatest  adventures  of  our  lives,  and  a  game  at  blind- 
man's  bulFwith  Jenny  Transit 

Sir  R.  Oh  mention  her  not!  If  you  love  me,  touch 
not  tiiat  tender  string  ! 

Luc.  Oh,  then,  you  confess  there  is  a  little  tenderness 
still  lurking  near  your  heart? 

Sir  R.  Ah,  oui,  une  petite  tendresse.  The  fact  is,  the 
damsel  is  pretty  and  cheerful,  and,  I  dare  say,  ere  this, 
bus  become  a  fine  buxom  woman  ;  but  do  you  think  a 
fine  buxom  woman  will  do  for  Sir  Roderick?  No,  sister 
Lucinda,  we  must  graft  a  more  courtly  scion  on  the 
family  genealogy, — some  sprig  of  nobility,  some  senti- 
mental, all-acconiplislred  Rosamond  must  allure  me  to 
her  Woodstotk  bower.  This  advertisement  has  afforded 
me  the  clue,  and  I  go  to  unravel  it. 

Luc.  Take  care  that  Queen  Eleanor  does  not  step  in 
witU  the  poisoned  cup. 

Sir  R.  VVhy,  the  very  name  is  a  suflHcient  bar  to  our 
union.  Think  of  a  Jenny — absolutely ,  a  spinning-Jenny  ! 
Quite  modern  and  vulj^ar!  Not  a  single  poet  has  used 
the  name,  except,  indeed,  the  character  of  Jenny  Diver> 
in  the  Beggars'  Opera.  Jenny,  Jen — Pheughl  still,  as 
I  say,  there  is  a  little  tendresse  in  my  bosom,  and  there- 
fore, my  dear  Lucinda,  do  not  exercise  the  ofBi  e  of  city 
remembrancer,  but  allow  me  to  blot  out  the  portrait, 
whose  original  I  can  never  forget.  Forget  thee  !  Alas^ 
poor  ghost!  while  memory \^A  double  knock,  l.  d> 

Re-enter  DavY,  at  the  stage-door,  L. 

Davy.  X.  Y.  Z.  is  below,  sir. 

Sir  R.  Show  her  hither.  [Eii7  Davv."]  Now,  my  dear 
sister,  get  to  your  apartment,  and,  when  I  have  col- 
lected as  many  as  will  fill  the  rooms — let  me  see, — 
seven — 'tis  a  happy  omen!     There   are  seven  eolourS|, 


SCENE  I.]  WINNING  A  HUSBAND.  17 

seven  notes,  seven  stars,  and  here  1  shall  have  seven 
damsels,  I  trust,  as  vivid,  as  iiarmuiiious,  and  as  radiant 
as  tliem  all.  Yes,  seven's  the  main  !  Away,  till  1  send 
for  thee  ;  then  to  thy  discretion  will  I  submit  my  aino- 
reus  phalanx,  and,  placing;  thee  on  the  judgment-seat, 
bow  obedient  to  thy  liat 

Luc,  Farewell !     Success  attend  our  enterprise  ! 

[Eiit  Lucindii,  into  No.  7,  C.  D.  F. 

Re-eiUer  Davy,  at  the  stage-door,  I, 

Davy.  [Looking  back.'\  \Va\k  np,  ma'am.  [ToSir  Rode- 
rick.]  Allow  me  to  interduce  Signoia  X.  Y.  Z. 

[Exit  Davy. 

Enter  Jensy  Transit,  disgidsedas Margaret  Macmvcklecanny. 

Jen.  (l.  c.)  I  believe  I  hae  the  pleasure  to  address 
Q.  X. 

Sir  R.  (c.)  Yes — why — no,  madam,  not  exactly  the  ad- 
vertiser, but  a  near  relation  and  confidential  friend. 
[A>ide.]  By  heavens  !  a  perfect  beauty,  of  the  mountain 
breed, — some  Lady  IMorna — some  descendant  of  Fingal 
— some  Malvina,  come  in  search  of  her  Oscar. 

Jen.  Ye'U  think  me  bold  to  risk  this  meeting,  sir,  but 
the  secresy  and  delicacy  promised  in  the  newspaper 
have  inspired  me  wi'  confidence. 

Sir  R.  [Aside.]  What  an  interesting  brogue  she  has  ! 
she  has  certainly  sat  for  her  portrait  to  the  author  of 
"  Tales  of  my  Landlord."  [Aloud.]  U'ell,  my  dear  lady, 
allow  me  to  make  the  inquiries  which  the  duties  of  my 
agency  impose.  My  friend  is  anxious  to  realize  the  plea- 
sures which  are  only  to  be  found  in  a  married  state,  and  bis 
first  and  most  earnest  desire  is  for  an  accomplished  partner. 

Jen.  He  must  ken,  sir,  that  Scotland  is  the  schule 
from  whence  he  must  select  yon.  "  Scenis  decora  alta 
faturis,"  as  Virgil  says:  e\er)bo(ly,  the  poor  and  the 
rich,  little  and  niuckle,  receive  the  blessings  o'  a  liijeral 
education  iu  that  li^ppy  country-  Learning  is  indigenous 
to  the  soil  :  like  the  national  thistle,  it  flourishes  on  the 
bleak  mountain-lop  as  well  as  in  the  cultivated  pleasure- 
ground. 

Sir  R.  How  poetical  !  How  sentimental  !  You  are 
a  bright  sample,  madam,  of  the  national  produce.  I 
suppose  you  understand  the  fashionable  languages, 
Fieiich  and  Italian  ? 

Jen.  French  and  Italian  ! — Forbid  it,  Homer  aad  Aris- 
b8 


16  WINNING  A  HU&BAND.  [aCT  I. 

totle:     No,  sir,  the  Greek  and  Homan  languages  are 
familiHr  to  me,  ''sit  milii  fas  audita -loqiii." 

Sir  ii.  Tliis  will  never  do.     Egad,  sLe'U  school  me  ! 

Jen.  And  the  ancient  Gaelic,  sir  — the  language  o* 
Ossian. 

Sir  H  Of  Osf  lan  ?— Oh,  delightful  !  I  shall  have  a 
new  version,  with  family  annotations.    Then,  you  dance  ? 

Jen.  Dance!  Where  is  the  country  produces  sic 
dancers  as  the  land  o'  cakes, — [Dimces.l  the  reel,  the 
strathspey,  and  the  Highland  fling,  sir? 

Sir  Ii.  Delicious  accomplishments!  And  then  you 
have  a  taste  for  music? 

Jt-7..  Yes,  sir  ;  we  have  muckle  taste  for  that  delight- 
ful science.  What  can  equal  the  delicious  harmony  o' 
the  bagpipe — the  melodious  pibroch  ?  Sir,  1  ha'  spent 
considerable  time  in  perfecting  mysel'  on  that  truly  an- 
cient and  sonorous  instrument;  and,  by  your  leave,  will 
tak'  an  opportunity  (j'  saluting  you  wi'  a  serenade. 

•Sir  R.  Vou  are  very  kind  ;  but  really  the  instrument 
is  ralher  too  national  for  my  ears. 

Jen.  Too  national,  sir  ?  "  Libertas,  et  natali  solum, 
as  the  Roman  poet  has  it.  "  ThtTfux  yxia."  as  Demos- 
thenes has  written  ;  nothing  can  be  too  national,  sir  ;  the 
love  of  country  is  the  "  primum  mobile"  of  every  honest 
heart;  and  the  heart  of  i^largaret  Macmucklecanny  beats 
as  fervently  lor  her  country  as  it  hopes  to  do  (or  your 
friend,  sir. 

Sir  R.  [Aside.']  Mackmucklecanny  !  Oh,  zounds,  thi? 
won't  do  I  [Aloud.]  Madam,  I  dare  say  my  friend  will 
diiJy  appreciate  your  patriotism.  Have  the  goodness  to 
step  into  this  room  ;  I  expect  him  immediately,  and  will 
state  your  pretensions. 

Jen.  Sir,  I  rely  on  your  fidelity  and  his  delicacy  ;  for 
know,  sir,  the  bluid  that  rins  in  these  veins  has  de- 
scended through  a  line  o'  ancestors,  equally  honourable, 
learned,  and  patriotic;  and,  as  the  national  motto  rins, 
"  nemo  me  iiiipune  lacessit.'"    [Exit  into  }\o.l,  R.  D.  Jirst  e. 

Sir  R.  Here's  a  strange  admixture!  Latin  and  love 
— sentiment  and  Aristotle — sympathy  and  a  bagpipe — 
Demosthenes  and  a  Scotch  jig — Ossian  and  Margery 
Macraucklecanny.  Oh,  Lord !  Oh,  Lord  !  this  never 
will  do!  To  be  sure,  she  is  interesting;  but  then  the 
Greek  and  Latin  will  totally  upset  me.  Oh,  that  I  had 
had  a  classic  education  ;  for,  though  exploded  by  the 
present  fasbiunable  system,  I  am  convinced  of  the  benefit 


«CEKE  I.]  WINNING  A   Ill'SBAXD.  19 

derived  from  college  study, — from  an  abode  in  the  "  an- 
tique halls  and  silent  groves,  where  erst  the  sons  of 
genius  trod;"  but  it's  too  late;  and  so.  Miss  Margery, 
yes,  absolute  Madge — Meg — Peggy — I*eg  !  Oh,  save 
»ne,  save  me  from  contamination!  No,  Miss  Margery 
Macmucklecanny,  although  1  acknowledge  your  talents, 
my  own  old-fashioned  rustic,  Jenny,  will  have  the  pre- 
ference to  you.  [A  double  knuck. 

Re-enter  DaVY,  at  the  ilage-<ioor,  L. 

Dary.  A  lady  below,  who  says  she  signed  herself  C. 
C  C.  sends  you  this  card.  Ecod  !  they  say  C.  stands 
for  a  hundred,  and,  by  her  appearance,  it's  very  right. 
She'd  make  an  excellent  aunt  to  a  large  family,  or  mis- 
tress of  a  parish  workhouse. 

Sir  R.  Introduce  her,  Davy. 

Dav.  E'es,  sir.     Please  to  walk  up,  ma'am. 

[Flit  Daw.- 

Sir  R.  Miss  Clementina  Cornelia  Clappergo  !  Here's 
softness  and  sentiment,  youth  and  loveliness.  To  be 
sure,  the  surname  is  none  of  the  prettiest  ;  but  then,  we 
shall  change  that,  so  it  matters  but  little.  Cornelia! 
Clementina  !  'tis  the  music  of  love, — 'tis  ''  the  concord  of 
sweet  sounds  :"  and  then  tlie  device,  so  elegant !  I  re- 
member the  letter  -signed  C.  C.  C.  was  one  of  the  most 
enchanting  billets  in  the  whole  packet, — wove  paper, 
gilt  edges,  glittering  sand  on  the  letters;  seal,  a  Cupid, 
with  his  wings  cut ;  motto,  '"Jamais  fuir,"  Oh,  this  is 
the  long-looked-foT 

Daiy.  [IVithmtt.l  Please  to  walk  in. 

I^nter  Jenny  Transft,  at  the  sta^ednor,  i..,  disguised  as  Miss 
Clementina  Cornelia  Clappergo. 

Jen*  Good  morning,  sir.  Excuse  the  embarrassment 
which  overwhelms  me.  The  novelty  of  my  situation, 
and  the  modesty  of  my  tender  sex,  overpower  me  with 
sensations  that  call  for  your  tenderest  indulgence. 

Sir  R.  [Offering  a  c/iutr.]  1  beg,  madam,  you  will  be 
eeated. 

Jen.  [Sitting  aonn  rath  great  formalitti.']  I  trust  the  sin- 
cerity of  your  professions  need  not  be  diuibted,  and  that 
you  are  imbued  with  an  honourable  symi  athy  towards  me, 
which  will  excuse  the  frankness  and  candour  of  my  de- 
oieanour,  and  exonerating  me  from  censure,  place  these 
**  Tills  cliaracter  sliould  be  tpuken  wi(b  •  liap. 


20  WINN'ING  A  HUSBAND.  [ACT  I. 

little  aberrations  from  strict  decorum  to  the  account  of 
my  fidelity  and  devotedness  to  your  service. 

Sir  R.  Madam,  I  really 

Jen.  Sir,  I  beg  you  will  not  trouble  yourself  to  reite- 
rate the  professions  so  abundantly  scattered  over  tliat 
part  of  our  charmingcorrespomlence  which  has  emanated 
from  your  elegant  pen.  I  trust,  sir,  the  reply  which  you 
have,  by  your  soft  and  gentlemanly  insinuations,  dravvn 
from  me,  has  not  been  found  unworthy  of  your  attention. 
To  write  a  good  letter,  is  a  desideratum  seldom  acquired 
in  the  present  day  ;  and,  as  the  Monthly  Review  says  of 
my  last  novel,  "  The  Castle  of  St.  Omer's,  or  the  Mysie- 
ries  of  Faithlessness,"  the  epistolatory  style  is  carried 
to  its  acmfe,  in  that  prodaction. 

Sir  R.   Madam,  I  must  beg  leave 

Jen.  Sir,  you  can  take  leave.  I  beg  youll  be  under 
no  restraint.  'Jhe  connexion  we  are  about  to  commence 
is  of  a  nature  to  banish  all  ceremoniousness, — a  delight- 
ful reciprocity  of  feeling  and  a  liberality  of  conduct  are 
the  only  guides  to  happiness  in  that  blessed  intercourse; 
as  I  say  in  my  seventy-sixth  sonnet: — 

"  Wlien  two  fond  hearts  are  bound  by  love. 
Content  ehoiiiil  twist  llic  packlhiead  ; 
Elsi',  if  ill  separate  paths  they  rove, 
'Tis  ten  to  one  they  crack  thread." 

Sir  R.  My  dear  madam,  excuse  me  a  moment.  [Thejf 
rise, — Aside.]  This  is  past  endurance, —  i  must  leave  her. 

Jen.  Sir,  you  are  at  liberty  to  transact  any  business 
you  please;  I  am  but  the  creature  of  your  clemency  ;  at 
present  I  have  no  legal  control,  but,  when  the  Gordian 
knot  is  tied,  ''  when  Hymen,  with  his  sacred  torch,  lights 
up  his  lambient  flame  of  connubial  felicity,"  when,  as  my 
one  hundred  and  eightieth  Amatory  Song  says, — 

"  When  Ciipid  rivets  bis  loft chain, 
'I'ii  u&elis:s  for  us  to  complain." 

Sir  R.  Pray,  madam,  excuse  my  leaving  you.  [^Crossing 
to  L.,  and  calling.']  Here,  Davy  ?     Davy,  I  say  ! 

Re-enter  Davy,  at  the  stage-door,  l. 

iSir  R.  [Apart  tn  Davy.]  Try  to  get  rid  of  this  Miss 
Clappergo, — what  a  suitable  name  ! — or,  if  she  will  not 
go,  deposit  her  in  No.  2  and  let  me  know  when  the  coast 
is  clear.  [^Crostet  to  E. 

Jen.  Surely,  you  will  not  slight  me  thusi 


SCENE  I.]  WINNING   A  HUSBAND.  21 

Sir  R-  Madam,  I  swear  to  you,  by  the  silver  moon  of 
Diana- 

Jen.  Tlie  moon — I  have  an  ode  to  her  in  my  sixteenth 
Tolume  of  Fugitive  Pieces,  beginning  thus  : — 

"  See  in  the  sky  the  crescent  of  the  night 
Sfcltniiily  shines  in  sad  resplendency  ; 

Slieildipig  its  sootliing  sweet  si. ft  silver  light 
O'er  the  strait  bpreadiug  Durlace  of  the  siKnt  smooth  salt  sea." 

iS'r  R.  Madam,  I  must  away  ;  adieu,  most  adorable 
Miss  Clappergo.  [Eait  at  the  itage-donr,  r. 

Jen.  Adieu,  most  irritable  Sir  Koger — [Laughhig.]  ha, 
ha,  hn  ! 

Dary.  [Laughing.]  He,  he,  he  !  ecod,  Miss  Jenny,  that 
were  a  tickler. 

Re-enter  LuciNDA,/rom  No.  7,  CD.  F. 

Luc.  Bravo  !  bravo  !  my  dear  Jenny  Transit — the  work 
goes  on  bravely — he's  almost  sick, 

Jen.  'Gad!  he  shall  be  sick  and  sorry,  too,  before 
I've  done  with  him  :  but  come,  my  dear,  help  me  to 
effect  the  metamorphose  of  a  fine  lady  of  the  last  age,  to 
one  of  the  present. 

Luc.  Most  willingly,  my  dear.  I  vow  it's  absolute 
Ecandal  to  the  sex  to  dis^juise  a  young  woman  in  tiiis 
way  ;  but,  however,  the  evil  is  all  outside,  and  can 
easily  be  shifted.  ^\  hat  would  many  a  wrinkled  spin- 
ster give,  if  she  could  resume  her  youth  and  beauty  as 
speedily? 

Sir  R.  [  Without,  R.,  calling.}   Davy  ! 

Jen.  Hark!   he's  returning — which  is  my  room,  David  T 

Davy.   Walk  into  No.  2,  ma'am. 

Jen.  Away,  my  dear  Lucy — there's  do  time  to  be  lost; 
'Itis  true,  the  enemy  has  been  beaten  from  the  field,  but 
he  may  rally  again,  and  you  know  there  is  as  much 
praise  due  to  the  general  who  follows  ap  his  conquest, 
as  to  him  who  achieves  the  victory. 

[E-rcunt  Jennq  inta  Ko.  2,  L.Jint  E.,  ami  Luciiida  itilo 
No.  7,  c.  n.  F. 

Dary.  {.longhing.l  He,  he,  he '.  ecod!  she  does  just  as 
she  liUes.  Old  or  young,  merry  or  sad — master  may 
talk  as  he  likes  about  accomplishments  and  stutT — but  I 
fancy  Miss  Jenny  will  accomplish  more  than  he  gives 
her  credit  for. 

Sir  R.  HViihout,R.,  culling.']  Davy!   Davy} 


22  WINNING  A  HUSBAND.  [aCT  J. 

Davy.  [Crossing  to  B.]  You  may  come  out  of  your  hiding* 
place,  Sir  Roderick — she's  caged. 

Re-enter  SiR  Roderick  Strangeways,  at  the  stnge-door,  r. 

Sir  R.  You  have  got  rid  of  that  terrible  gabbler, 
Davy  ? — How  did  she  go  off  ? 

Davy.  Oh!  just  as  she  had  gone  on,  sir,  while  you 
were  here;  gabble,  gabble,  just  like  ducks  in  a  pond — 
lord,  sir,  she'd  be  a  nation  fine  mistress  for  your  old 
family  mansion,  and  if  your  honour  should  marry  her, 
you  need  not  be  at  the  expense  of  painting  her  picture; 
there  be  plenty  such  as  she  among  your  maiden  aunts, 
and  great  grandmothers,  in  the  long  gallery,  sir. 

Sir  B.  Away,  you  impudent  varlet !  nor  treat  my 
female  ancestry  with  such  disrespect — away  ! 

Davy.  Oh,  very  well,  sir:  your  good  old  uncle  would 
have  thanked  me  for  an  idea  that  would  have  saved  him 
a  penny — but  this  be  a  prodigal  age.       [Eiit  Davy,  l_  D. 

Sir  R.  No  muttering,  sir  1  was  ever  such  an  eternal 
talker,  and  to  so  little  purpose— one  would  think  I  dealt 
among  the  muses — my  first  application  was  a  learned 
sprig,  my  second  a  full-blown  literary  bramble;  but 'tis 
scandalizing  the  ''tuneful  nine,"  to  carry  the  allusion 
any  further.  If  these  are  the  saniples,  I  fear  my  time 
and  my  metal  have  been  squandered  in  vain. 

Re-enter  Davy,  at  the  stage-door,  L. 

Davy.  Oh,  sir,  such  a  beautiful  creature  coming  np, 
sir. 

Sir  R.  Beautiful,  is  she  ? — What's  her  name? 

Davy.  She  would  not  tell,  sir. 

Sir  R.  Is  she  fair,  or  a  brunette  ? 

Davy.  I  did  not  see,  sir. 

Sir  R.  Is  she  young  or  old  ? 

Dnvy.  I  don't  know,  sir. 

Sir  R.  Then,  how,  in  the  name  of  Venus,  Juno,  and 
Minerva,  can  you  call  her  a  beauty  ? 

Dat^y.  M  hy,  sir,  they  do  say,  fine  birds  have  fine  fea- 
thers, and  if  that  be  true,  she  mun  be  a  downright  beauty 
— here  she  be,  sir — oh,  the  pretty  chicken.  [Exit,  u 

Re-enter  Jenny  Transit,  at  the  stage-door,  l.,  disguised  as 
Lady  Dorothea  Dashly, 

Sir  R    Madam,  permit  me  to  Land  yuu  a  chair.     May 


£C£N£  i  ]  WINNING  A   HUSBAND.  33 

I  know  to  whom  I  have  the  honour  of  addressing  vaj- 
self  ? 

Jen.  You  are,  I  presume,  Mr.  Q.  X. 

Sir  R.  The  same. 

Jen.  As  I  have  the  pleasure  to  address  the  principal 
in  this  atfdir,  i  make  no  scruple  in  disclosing  my  name. 
My  card,  sir. 

Sir  R.  [Reading  the  card.]  "  Lady  Dorothea  Dashly." 
Madam,  you  do  me  much  honour.  The  weather  is 
warm — will  you  allow  me  to  disencumber  you  of  this 
superfluous  covering.  [OJering  to  take  her  veil. 

Jtn.  Sir,  I  should  be  most  happy  to  be  relieved,  but 
the  rules  of  decorum  scarcely  permit  it.  Our  acquaint- 
ance is  but  young,  Air.  Q.  X.,  and,  as  yet,  I  am  hardly 
mistress  of  your  views. 

■Sir  B-  They  are  rather  too  limited  at  present,  madam  ; 
[^Pointing  to  the  vei/.]  but,  I  trust,  my  entreaty  and  your 
indulgence  may,  ere  long,  extend  the  prospect,  and 
make  us  better  acquainted. 

Jen.  There  are  but  few  things  necessary,  sir — I  am, 
as  you  perceive,  an  earl's  daughter,  and,  like  many 
others  of  that  rank  in  society,  it  is  all  I  have  to  boast  of. 
I  am  young -how  favoured,  you  are  yet  to  learn.  I 
have  been  well  educated,  and  fancy  I  could  be  rather 
agreeable  where  my  humour  was  studied,  and  very  fond 
of  him  who  would  strive  to  please  me. 

Sir  R.  [Asieie.]  How  modest,  and  yet  how  explicit! 
bow  elegant,  and  \et  what  humility  ! 

"  Grace  is  in  all  her  steps— lieaven  in  her  eye, 
In  every  dction  dignity  and  luve." 

Dear  lady,  you  will  easily  imagine  that  I  have  not  taken 
this  step  without  the  hope  of  success  ;  but  I  assure  you, 
however  sanguine  my  expectations  have  been,  they  are 
realised — yea,  surpassed  by  the  suavity  of  your  deport- 
ment, and  the  condescension  of  your  demeanour.  Suffer 
me  to  remove  the  veil. 

Jen.  No,  pardon  me  :  as  yet  all  is  fair  enough,  but 
should  I  reveal  the  only  secret  I  have  in  my  power 

Sir  R.  The  conquest  would  be  complete,  and  I  should 
be  yours  for  ever- 

Jen.  No,  no,  my  dear  Air.  Q.  X.,  the  flame  that  is 
easiest  kindled  soonest  burns  out — I  have  a  little  ballad 
on  the  subject :  I  see  you  have  a  harp  here — are  you  a 
musical  man  i 


24  WI.VNING  A  HUSBAND.  [ACT  I. 

Sir  R.  No  performer,  but  an  enthusiast  in  my  adniira* 
tion  of  the  art  ,  the  instrument  is  my  sister's. 

Jen.  V\  ell,  then,  if  you  will  not  think  me  too  bold, 
and  will  promise  to  be  lenient  in  your  criticism,  I  will 
emJeavonr  to  give  you  the  trifle  without  further  cere- 
mony, in  the  best  way  I  an)  able.       [Sid  dou-ii  to  the  harp. 

Sir  K.  Vou  are  all  obliging.  [.4sirte.]  A  Venus  !  «hat 
a  hand  and  arm — how  delicately  they  set  off  the  brilliant* 
that  encircle  them.     I  attend  your  ladyship. 

SONG— Jenny  Transit. 

Ye  lovers,  atli^mt  to  my  song — 

Alleiid,  )e  whose  sensitive  tiearts 
By  pasi-iuii  aie  liurried  aiuiig, 

Uiiliee<lin<;  tlic  pangs  she  iinparti. 
Arrest  her  sweet  pro^iess,  1  pray, 

'I  will  saveje  much  soi row  aud  tean  } 
For  the  luve  that  is  burn  o(  a  day 

Is  luu  feeble  tu  linger  tbiuugb  years. 

The  flame  that  bnrns  brisjhlest  sooii  diet— • 

The  torrent  will  dr.iiii  it>  resource,— 
The  gHiidieft  hue  soonest  Hies, — 

'Ihe  whirl  tiiid  exhausts  all  its  force. 
Then,  oh,  let  your  baik  idly  stray, 

\\  heie  the  ralin  in   love's  <icean  appear*  ; 
For  the  li.ve  that  is  burn  of  a  day 

la  too  feeble  to  linger  through  years. 

Si'- R.  Bravo!  bravo!  my  dear  lady  D., — sure 'tis  no 
mortal  strain,  but  "soft  music  of  the  tuneful  spheres" — 
my  soul  is  wrapped  in  ecstasy  and  love — I  ant  subdued. 

Jen.  Well,  my  good  Mr.  Q.  X..,  we  seem  to  have  a 
belter  understanding  of  each  other  than  might  have  been 
expected  from  so  short  an  acquaintance.  You  appear 
satisfied,  and  I  cannot  be  otherivise. 

Sir  R.  Your  ladyship  is  flattering.  Grant  me  but  the 
favour  of  one  glance  from  those  beaming  e\es 

Jen.  It  must  not  be  ;  ere  I  can  make  a  linal  surrender, 
it  is  necessary  to  capitulate.  Now,  pray  my  dear  con- 
queror, state  )our  terms. 

Sir  R.  Terras  !  there  w  ill  be  no  term  to  our  happiness, 
I  trust. 

Jen.  That  looks  rather  evasive ;  however,  as  you 
seem  reluctant  to  mention  yours,  listen  to  mine  :  univer- 
sal dominion,  a  handsomij  jointure,  a  splendid  equipage, 
and  the  liberty  of  visiting,  galltintiiig,  scandalizing, 
gaining,  and  squandering,  w  hatsoever,  howsoever,  w  hen- 
soever,  and  wheresoever  1  please.     These  are  the  pri- 


SCENE  l.J  WINNING   A  HUSBAND.  25 

vileges  due  to  my  birth,  and  to  the  wife  of  Sir  Roderick 
Strangeways  ;  you  see  I  know,  my  man  ;  nay,  no  ques- 
tion or  expostulation — I'll  grant  you  a  few  minutes  for 
consideration  ;  allow  me  to  retire  into  this  chamber; 
wiien  your  mind  is  fixed,  you  may  show  your  face ;  and 
then,  if  you  accede  to  my  wislies,  I'll  show  mine. 
Adieu  I  [Eiit  into  No.  3,  R.  d.s.  E. 

Sir  R.  Here's  an  end  of  my  period  of  celibacy  ;  to  be 
sure,  the  terms  are  rather  hard — gaming  and  gallanting 
— oh,  no  ;  by  the  beard  of  Mahomet,  I  can't  allow  those 
two  articles;  I  must  try  to  dissuade  her  from  them. 
Oh,  Lady  Dorothea !  dearest  Dorothy  I  Dorothy  !— 
Why,  I  vow  it  is  nothing  more  nor  less — egad  !  when- 
ever I  dine  at  home,  I  shall  think  myself  at  Dolly's  Chop- 
house  ;  it  is  a  wretched  taste,  certainly  ;  but,  however, 
the  odium  is  not  hers  ;  no,  her  sponscirs  must  answer 
for  that,  along  with  the  rest  of  their  responsibility,  and 
then  Dorothea  is  not  so  mucji  amiss.  Lady  Dorothea,  if 
I  can  but  expunge  the  obnoxious  articles,  our  treaty  is 
complete.  \_Loud  ktwckhig,L, 

Jen.  ^Without,  L.]  I  tell  you,  Skip  Jack,  I  will  go  up, 
Davy.  [Without;  L.]  1  tell  you,  ma'am,  1  must  not  ad- 
mit you. 

Re-enter  Davy  and  Jenny  Transit,  at  the  stage-door^  t., 
disguised  as  Mrs,  Deborah  Giiskin. 

Jen.  Stand  aside,  you  varlet ;  vhat,  vould  you  come 
for  to  go  to  wes  a  voman  of  my  respectabijity  ? — You're  a 
wile  willin. 

iSJr  R.   What  does  this  mean,  Davy  ? 

Davy.  Mean,  sir!  1  doesn't  know  what  it  means  :  this 
lady  declared  she  would  come  up,  whether  or  no  ;  and 
when  I  said  it  were  an  unpurlite  act,  she  threatened  to 
interduce  her  claws  if  I  didn't  stand  aside. 

Jen.  Odd  rabbit  it,  sir  ;  send  that  hare  imperent  warlet 
out  o'  the  room  ;  I  vishes  to  say  a  vord  or  two  to  you. 

•Sir  R.  Davy,  leave  the  room. 

Duty.  Ees,  sir  :  ecod  I  she  be  at  un  again.  [Fxif,  l.  d. 

Sir  R.  [Hauditig  achair.]  Now,  madam,  at  your  service. 

Jen.  Veil,  sir,  you  must  know  as  how  my  name  is 
Deborah  Griskin  ;  I  am  the  relics  of  poor  old  Gregory 
Griskin,  the  pork  butcher,  in  Vitechapel.  Ize  young-, 
and  strong,  and  hearty,  the  Lord  be  praised  for  it.  I 
has  no  cumberances,  neither  chick  nor  child  ;  and  I 
comes  for  a  hancer  to  that  hare  letter— the  billy-dux  vat 
c 


29  WINNINfi  A  HUSBAND.  [aCT  I. 

I  senrt  you  by  the  two-penny  post,  concarning  love  and 
matrimony,  and  all  that  hare 

iSJr  R.  Zounds  and  fury  !  here's  a  transition  ! — Why, 
madam,  as  to  the  answer,  I  have  not  quite  made  up  my 
tnind. 

Jen.  Oh,  Muster  Q  X.,  don't  be  partickler,  cause  vhy, 
I  is  nut;  my  poor  dear  Griskin,  what's  dead  and  gone, 
used  to  wow  as  how,  that  Deb,  as  he  called  roe,  vas  voa 
of  the  visest  and  most  wirtuousesl  voaiea  about  our 
oei^hbourhood. 

Sir  R.  My  good  woman,  you  have  certainly  made 
some  mistake  ;  you  do  not  at  all  correspond  with  the 
description  contained  in  the  advertisement. 

Jen,  Vhy,  your  advertisement  vas  for  a  vife,  vasn't  it? 
Veil,  arn't  I  capable? — Vou  vanted  a  voman  of  family; 
Tell,  my  father  had  a  wery  large  von,  sixteen  on  us,  boys 
and  gais — veil,  you  talked  sumniut  about  accomplish- 
ments— veil,  I  is  reckoned  to  have  a  wery  capital  eddi- 
cation,  I  vent  twice  through  the  spellin-book  and  vorked 
a  sampleter  at  Mrs.  Tickletails  establishment  for  young 
ladies,  in  Petticoat  Lane  ;  and  then  I  bad  a  quarter's 
dancing  of  Muster  Hopkins,  in  the  City  ;  and  for  driving 
a  bargain  and  filling  the  skin  of  a  sassage,  there's  not 
my  feller  in  Lunnun,  though  I  says  it  vot  shouldn't. 

Sir  R.  Zounds,  woman  !  I  say  you  vyon't  suit — must 
I  be  tormented  in  this  manner? 

Jen.  Oh,  bless  you,  I  doesnt  mind  all  that  hare,  I'ze 
mortal  glad  vot  you  shows  your  temper  aforehand,  I 
likes  you  the  better;  but  I  sees  you  are  rather  a  colt, 
and  to  show  you  I  be  not  come  for  to  take  you  hin,  look 
bere — see,  I've  got  property — yes,  two  hundred  pound 
beside  stock  in  trade ;  and  if  I  fiuds  you  banser  my  hex- 
pectation,  vhy,  I'll  make  it  all  your  hown  the  inorninf 
barter  ve  be  spliced. 

Sir  R.  Damn  the  devil  and  all  his  imps,  I  say,  whe- 
ther in  petticoats  or  otherwise — here,  Davy  !   Davy  ! 

[Crossing  to  Lt 

Re-entc  Davy,  L.  D. 

Davy.  What,  another  customer  for  I,  sir  ? 

Sir  R.  Yes,  Davy;  in  the  name  of  patience  and  de- 
cency, dispose  of  her  somehow  or  other.         [Crotses  to  lu 

Jen.  lliisinf;.]   Vhy,  you  vou't  leave  me,  vill  you  ? 

Sir  R.  Davy,  take  care  of  this  lady  till  my  return — gooii 
by,  Mrs.  Griskia — cuofuslou !      lEj.it,  at  tfte  sCuge'dotn-f  A. 


SCENE  I.]  vVINMNC  A  HUSBAND.  27 

Jen.  Good  by — my  sarvice  to  you — ILaiighing.']  Ha 
ha,  ha  ! 

Davy.  [Laughing.']  Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Re-enler  LvciKU\,  from  A'o.  7,  C.  D.  r, 

Lve.  (k.  c.)  Excellent,  my  dear  Jenny  ! — AVhat,  routed 
again? — You  deserve  to  be  a  field-marshal. 

Jen.  (c.)  No,  merely  of  the  artillery  company  ;  tills 
is  one  of  my  f:reat  guas  ;  my  last  attempt  was  in  the  ca- 
pacity of  a  sapper  and  miner,  but  I  must  away, — be 
Ijrm,  heart,  and  a  few  more  sallies  will  complete  the 
victory.  [Exit  into  No.  4,  L.  D.  s.  E. 

Luc.  Well,  Davy,  if  our  plot  succeeds,  you  shall  not 
go  unrewarded. 

Daiy.  (l.  c.)  Oh,  Lord.  IMiss  Lucinda.  don't  mention 
it.  I  is  a  cliampiDg,  as  master  sajs,  and  fights  without 
fee  or  reward. 

Luc.  Thou  art  a  valiant  body  containing  a  generous 
soul,  and  we  will  not  forget  thee. 

[Exit  Lucinda  into  No.  7,  C  D.  F. 

Davy.  So,  they  are  gone,  and  now  for  master.  [Cros*- 
ing  to  R.]  Hullo,  sir  !  I've  put  the  little  fat  un  iuto  No.  4. 

Re-enter  SiR  RonEUiCK  Strangeways,  at  the  stage-door,  ■. 

Sir  R.  Into  No.  4?  why  didn't  you  put  her  into  the 
street? — Ods  blood  I  she  is  only  fit  for  the  queen  con- 
sort of  V\  at  Tyler  or  Sir  JelTery  Dunstan. 

Davy.  Why,  do  you  know,  sir,  when  I  offered  to  show 
her  down,  she  swoie  she'd  show  me  up  ;  then  1  ax'd  her 
if  she'd  allow  me  to  usher  her  into  No.  4,  and  says  she, 
"  I  am  master  of  you  and  your  betters  :"  then,  says  I, 
let  me  op^n  the  door,  and  she  told  me  to  shut  my  taty- 
trap.     ()h,  what  a  rum  un  she  be.  [.4  double  hiiKk,  L. 

Sir  R.    Some  one  else   approaches — see  who    it  is, 

Davy. 

Diiry.  E'es,  sir,  I  wool.  [faif.  l.  d. 

Sir  R.  I  get  weary  of  this  examioation,  it's  as  bad  as 
old  Falstaff  and  his  recruits. 

Re-enter  Daw,  at  the  stage-door,  L. 

Sir  R.  Well,  Davy,  who  have  we  now? 

Davy.  M'hy,  a  Frenchwoman,  Madmousle  Marrow- 
spoon,  I  think  she  calls  herself;  she  says  she  wants  a 
genteel  home,  and  talked  something  about  a  Moor,  but 
C2 


28  WINNING  A  HUSBAND.  [ACT  I 

whether  she  meant  a  blackey-moor,  T  can't  say.  I'll 
call  lier  up,  shall  I,  sirl — Walk  up,  Miss  Marrowspoou, 
walk  up. 

EiUer  Jenny    Transit,  at  the  sta^e-dnnr,   i..,  dh^uised  at 
ALidemoiselle  Marosqitieau,  a  French  Figurante. 

Davy.  This  be  Madmoisells  Marrowspoon. 

Jen.  Ah  !  vous  avez  tort — de  la  marosquieu — de  la, 
vojez  vous — de  la  ^  votre  service. 

Diivy.  [Aside.]  Oh,  very  well,  dealer  in  marrow-spoons 
at  your  service — there  she  goes  again.  [h'.xit,  L.  D. 

Jen.  Ah,  Monsieur,  je  vous  deinande  pardon — I  am 
sorry  to  keep  you  on  little  demi-heure,  but  de  coche  ni'a 
detenu  by  de  break  of  his  vheel.  J'espere  que  vous 
n'6tes  pas  engage,  me  hope  de  oder  ladies,  mes  rivaux, 
1)0  take  away  your  heart  from  me — Antoinette,  votre 
pauvre  Antoinette. 

Sir  R.  Oh,  non,  machere.  [ylsirfe]  She  looks  interest- 
ing ;   I  wonder  what  sort  of  physiognomy  she  boasts- 

Jen.  Ah,  monsieur,  vous  avez  raison — you  no  see  de 
visage — eh  bien — dites  moi — tell  me  if  you  have  de  love 
for  me,  and  den  me  show  you. 

Sir  R.  Ah,  my  dear  mademoiselle,  look  in  my  eyea 
and  read  the  torments  of  my  heart. 

Jen.  Eh  bien,    monsieur — allons  done — me  make  de 

conquete  and  nie  draw  aside  de  curtain — eh  bien,  voil^  ! 

[6/ie  dances,  takes  off'  the  veil,  and  eiit  into  No.  5,  R.  D.  F. 

Sir  R.  What  grace  !  what  elegance  !  what  dignity  !— 
wiiat  ease! — what  expression  ! — and  then  the  name- 
Antoinette  ! — here's  a  fixer  ! — a  perfect  grappling-hook, 
that  sinks  deep  within  my  breast,  and  bids  me  own  her 
lord  of  the  rich  territory.  In  her,  the  loves  and  graces 
combine.  She  is  the  paragon  of  womankind  I — thea 
what  a  delicious  broken  English — how  sweetly  simper- 
ing— oh,  'tis  plain  I'm  overpowered — Cupid  has  often 
wounded  me  before,  but  till  now  the  barb  has  never 
taken  hold  of  my  heart — I  feel  it  rankling  here— deep  as 
though  he  had  borrov\ed  an  ancient  cross-bow  to  etl'ecf 
bis  purpose — heigho  !  who  would  have  thought  that  a 
few  turns  and  capers  could  have  shaken  out  ttie  recol- 
lections of  Lady  Dorothea— the  charming  Lady  Dorothy. 
Dorothy!  Antoinette! — "  What  is  there  in  a  name  ?  pro- 
nounce them  togetlier,  Dorotliea  sounds  as  well  as  An- 
toinette; conjure  with  them,  Dorothy  will  raise  a  ghost 
as  soon  as  Antoinette."    Ob,  no,  no — the  simile  is  bad, 


SCtNEl.]  WINNING  A  HUSBAND.  29 

they  do  not  sound  equally  well,  and  as  for  the  conjura- 
tion, egad  !  here's  pretty  good  proof  what  spells  and  in- 
cantations proceed  from  the  dear  Frenchwoman. 

[A  loud  single  k/iock. 

Re-enter  Davv,  at  the  stage-door,  L. 

Dnry,  Here  be  another  on  'em,  sir. 

Sir  R.  "  Another,  and  another,  and  another  ! — I'll  see 
no  more." 

Diivy.  Ay,  but  she  says  you  must  see  her — she  be 
come  a  great  many  miles,  and  it  were  a  shame  and  a  pity 
to  disappoint  such  a  pretty  creature. 

Sir  R.  Pretty,  is  she? — Are  you  sure? 

Davy,  t'es,  sir,  I  ha'  seed  her  ;  she  had  no  curtain 
over  her  face — oh,  such  a  delicate  cowslip. 

Sir  R.   Well,  show  her  up. 

Dav.  E'es,  I  wool — walk  up,  my  little  cowslip. 

Enter  Jesny  Transit,  disguised  as  Bridget  Buckthorn. 

Jen,  (l.  c.)  His  honour  will  see  me,  then.  Oh,  how 
happy  I  am.  [Ejit  Dmy,  l.  D. 

Sir  R.  (c.)  By  heavens  !  she  is  beautiful ! — See  how 
the  roses  and  lilies  are  struggling  for  the  supremacy  in 
her  damask  cheek  !  — See,  now,  the  gushing  cherry  emu- 
lates her  pouting  lip — Flora  and  Pomona  have  lavished 
all  their  sweets  upon  this  emblem  of  rural  innocence- 
pray,  my  dear,  what's  your  name  ? 

Jen.   Buckthorn,  sir. 

Sir  R.  How  pastoral  I — The  ancient  Ruth,  the  lovely 
Lavinia,  the  Shepherdess  of  the  Alps,  all  must  yield  to 
this— bul  your  Christian  name,  my  dear? 

Jtn.   Bridget,  sir. 

Sir  R.  Oh,  the  devil  !  there's  a  damper — Bridget, 
Bridget — I  shall  never  get  over  that — oh,  no,  no — it 
operates  like  a  pail  of  cold  water  on  a  fever  patient — it 
cools  and  exhausts  at  the  same  time.  So,  my  dear, 
what's  your  business? 

Jen.  I've  no  business,  your  honour. 

Sir  R.  What  brought  you  to  town,  my  dear  ? 

Jen.  The  fly-waggon,  your  honour. 

Sir  R.  Exquisite  simplicity! — "Nature,  when  un- 
adorned, is  adorned  the  most."  Innocence  and  ingenu- 
ousness are  the  truest  requisites  for  connubial  felicity, 
and  in  these  particulars  she  is  all  accomplished. 

Jen.   Yes,  sir,  that  were  what  brother  Ralph  said 


so  WINNING  A  HUSBAND.  [aCT  I. 

■when  he  read  yotir  thingumbob  in  the  paper.  You  are 
accomplished,  Brid;xet,  says  he,  and  as  feytherhas  such 
a  family  to  keep,  and  so  many  on  ua  unable  to  assist 
him,  I  thinks  you  had  better  go  to  Lunuun  and  try  your 
forlin — and  so  I  corned,  your  honour. 

Sir  R.  'Ilie  Arcadian  age  revived  ! 

Jen.  He  you  the  young  gentleman  who  wants  to  make 
ma-ma- lerimony  alliance,  1  think  brother  Ralph  calls  it. 

Sir  R.  Yes,  sweetest  primrose. 

Jen.  Oh,  then,  brother  Ralph  said  I  were  to  tell  you 
all  I  can  do.  In  the  first  place,  I  reads,  writes,  hems, 
sews,  and  spins — then  I  be  a  tolerable  washer  and  ironer 
— I  can  make  butter  and  cheese,  and  puddings,  and 
pies;  brew,  hake,  pickle,  preserve 

Sir  R.  Heaven  preserve  me  !   what  a  pickle  I  am  in  ! 

Jen.  Then,  sir,  in  the  second  place,  I  can  comb  wool, 
knit  stockings,  patch  old  breeches  and  jerkins,  say  the 
church  catechism,  feed  pigs,  fatten  poultry,  milk  cowa, 
and  make  a  rare  syllabub. 

.S(r  R.  Oh,  that  I  were  sipping  a  syllabub  of  your 
manufacture  ! — And,  ray  little  Phillis,  is  this  all  you  can 
do? 

Jen.  Yes,  sir  ;  but  I  am  very  willing  to  learn,  and 
will  try  to  make  myself  useful  in  every  compacity. 

Str  R.  Delectable  goodnature! — I  shall  endeavour 
to  put  your  abilities  to  the  proof,  my  dear. 

Jen.  Thank  ye,  sir. 

Sir  R.  One  kiss,  you  little  charmer,  as  an  earnest 

Jen.  La,  sir — well,  sir,  one,  but  no  more  at  present, 
from  your  humble  servant,  Bridget  Buckthorn  . 

Sir  R.  [h'iises  her.]  Nectar,  by  Jove — Jove!  he's  a 
poor  paltry  fellow,  and  never  had  such  a  Hebe  as  this. 

Jen.  I  vow,  sir,  you  buss  one  like  a  true  gentleman. 

Sir  R.  Step  into  this  room,  my  charming  little  Buck- 
thorn, and  you  shall  find  me  both  gentle  and  true. 

Jen.  But  be  sure  that  you  be'nt  going  ti>  do  anything 
naughty,  though  ;  brother  Ralph  told  I  to  mind  what  I 
were  ahout. 

Sir  R.  Oh,  never — step  in,  my  dear,  and  trust  to  my 
liononr. 

Jen.  O,  but  brother  said  I  must  take  care  of  my  own 
honour,  and  not  trouble  myself  about  other  people's. 

Sir  R.   I  will  hold  it  sacred  with  my  life.     Good  by  ! 

Jen.  [Courttiying.]  Good  by,  sir. 

\Eiit  Jenny,  into  No.  6,  L.  D.  F. 


SCENE  1.]  WINNING   A  HUSBAND.  Sl' 

Sir  R.  My  heart  is  precisely  in  the  situation  of  a  coun- 
try  disturbed  by  civil  war,  wliere  the  opinion  of  that  party 
predominates  which  is  last  victorious.  On  one  side  is 
he  fortress  of  Lady  Dorothea;  on  the  other,  the  en- 
trenched camp  of  the  enchanting  Antoinette;  while 
here,  precisely  in  the  centre,  the  forces  of  victorious 
Bridget  are  bivouacked,  and  ready  to  renew  the  engage- 
ment. Ecod  !  I'm  like  an  alderman  at  a  city  feast,  where 
the  profusion  is  great,  and  one  knows  not  at  which  end 
to  begin,  ("ity  feast! — I'gad,  a  good  thought!  her 
ladyship  will  make  an  excellent  standing  pie,  and  the 
little  country  blossom  may  serve  for  a  side-dish,  a  sort 
of  a  lunch,  to  take  off  the  keen  edge  of  one's  appetite; 
but  then,  what's  to  become  of  the  French  fricassee?  Oh, 
I'm  bewildered  in  a  chaos  of  excellence.  Yonder  I  see 
Lucinda  ;  come,  sister,  I  am  surfeited.  Enter  upon  your 
jodicial  capacity,  and  set  the  question  for  ever  at  rest. 

Enter  I^vcivo A,  from  No.  7,  c.  D.  F. 

Luc.  (c.)  What !  wo'nt  you  examine  a  few  more  ? 

Sir  R.  (l.  c.)  Heaven  forbid!  the  good  fill  me  with 
anxiety,  the  evil  with  disgust.  T  have  had  enough,  and 
to  your  arbitration  I  must  submit  at  last.  Know,  then, 
that  here  I  have  a  bonny  lassie  from  the  Highlands,  in- 
teresting, but  pedantic  ;  here,  a  poetical  old  maid  ;  here, 
an  earl's  elegant  daughter;  here,  a  shrewd  butcher's 
widow;  here,  a  graceful  French  Terpsichore  ;  and  here, 
an  innocent  sister  of  a  country  bumpkin. 

Luc.  A'ariety  enough  ;  you  can't,  surely,  be  at  a  loss? 

Sir  R.  Ye-,  but  I  am:  the  dilliculty  is,  to  make  the 
election. 

Luc.  I  can  put  you  in  a  way  to  obtain  them  all. 

Sir  R.  Why,  Lucinda,  my  dear,  what  has  become  of 
your  country  modesty  ? 

Luc.  It's  true  ;  I  can  make  you  master  of  all  the  in- 
terest, poetry,  elegance,  shrewdness,  grace,  and  inno- 
cence, which  at  present  bewilder  you, — nay,  I  vow  it, 
and  all  united  in  the  single  person  of 

Sir  R.  Of  whom,  Eloisal  Petrach's  Laura?  The 
Maid  of  Orleans  ?  or  the  Beauty  of  Buttermere  J 

Luc.  Of  my  dear  Jenny  Transit. 

Sir  R,  Psha !  the  very  name  chills  me. — it  runs 
through  my  heart  like  a  stab  from  her  father's  rusty  old 
broadsword.  [A  loud  double  knock,  L. 

Jen.  IWiihout,  L.]  Arrah,  now,  be  aisy  !     I  must  see 


i 


32  WINNING   A  HUSBAND.  [ACT  I. 

the  gentleman,  so  spare  yourself  the  trouble  of  denying 
him. 

Re-enter  jenny  Transit,  at  the  itas,e  door,  L.,  disguised  at 
Emign  Thaddeus  O'  Transit, 

Jen.  So,  Sir  ;  I  presume  you  are  the  illegant  Mr.  Q. 
X.?  By  my  soul,  you  are  well  titled!  for  youVe  as 
cross  as  the  one,  and  as  awkward  as  the  other.  Nay, 
sir,  don't  splutter;  I'm  told  you  have  my  sister  in  close 
custody  here,  [Shows  a  pistol.]  and  I  have  brougiit  this 
little  writ  of  habeas  corpus  to  set  her  at  liberty. 

Sir  R.  (c.)  Sir,  you  are  mistaken  ;  there  is  not  a  person 
of  your  country  in  the  house. 

Jen.  Zounds,  sir  !  there  is  no  necessity  for  that.  My 
sister  is  an  English,  and  I  am  an  Irishman  ;  no  matter 
for  that,  she  is  my  sister,  and,  by  my  soul,  we  should 
have  been  twins,  if  she  hadn't  made  a  slight  mistake 
and  popped  into  the  world  just  nine  months  before  nie. 

Sir  ft.  Pray,  sir,  may  1  know  whom  Ihave  the  honour 
to  receive  in  my  apartments? 

Jen.  By  my  faiih,  sir,  you  have  the  honour  to  receive 
an  honourable  fellow.  Ensign  Thaddeus  O'Transit,  of  the 
Kilkenny  Flamers,  son  of  Colonel  Transit,  and  brotiier 
to  a  sweet  little  lass  as  ever  brushed  the  dew  from  a 
shamrock,  Jenny  Transit,  whom  I  have  traced  to  this 
house,  and  wiiom  I  intend  to  set  at  liberty,  by  locking 
her  up  fast  in  these  arms. 

Sir  R.  Thaddeus  O'Transit !  Lucinda,  my  dear,  what 
does  this  mean  1     O'Transit !  it  must  be  an  imposture  ! 

Jen.  Impostor!  If  you  utter  that  word  again,  by  the 
left  hand  corner  of  St.  Patrick's  right  eye,  I'll  impose 
upon  you  in  a  way  that  may  prove  fat  from  agreeable. 
Sir,  the  wife  of  a  military  man  cannot  bring  forth  chil- 
dren when  and  wherever  she  likes.  I  was  born  while 
my  father  was  on  duty  in  Duhlin,  and  I  choose  to  add 
the  O'  to  my  name  to  preserve  a  family  distinction.  The 
boys  of  old  Ireland  deserve  that  honourable  continuation 
at  the  beginning  of  their  paternal  names;  for,  abroad  or 
at  home,  in  love  or  in  war,  they  are  sure  to  make  their 
opponents  cry  O,  before  they  are  done  with  them ;  and 
that  will  be  your  late,  honey,  if  you  don't  immediately 
restore  my  dear  Jenny.  Zounds,  sir!  you  must  be  a 
perfect  Turkish  Bashaw,  for  your  host  informed  me 
you  had  six  or  seven  ladies  with  you  ;  surely,  you  can 
spare  one. 


SCENE  I.]  WINNING  A  HUSBAND.  33 

Sir  R.  I  pledge  you  my  honour  she  is  not  here. 

Jen.  Botheration,  sir,  I'm  not  a  pawnbroker!  and  if  I 
were,  such  a  dirty  article  as  you  ofTer  me  is  not  worth 
making  out  a  duplicate  for.  No,  sir,  I've  nothing  to  do 
witii  the  three  balls, — two  will  be  sufficient  to  give  one 
of  us  a  quietus  ;  so,  take  this  little  gentleman,  IFresenting 
a  pistol.]  and  put  away  that  little  lady  ;  go  to  your  post 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  111  do  my  best  to  make 
you  as  dead  as  a  post  for  the  rest  of  your  lite. 

Luc.   For  heaven's  sake,  sir,  put  up  \our  pistols! 

Jen.  Oh,  you  prefer  to  stay  and  see  fair  play  ?  Well, 
my  dear,  don't  be  alarmed,  I'll  kill  him  as  quietly  and 
elegantly  as  a  gentleman  would  wish  to  die. 

Luc.  [Tahirig  his  arm.']  Nay,  my  dear  Mr.Thaddy,  I  in- 
treatyou  to  hear  a  little  reason. 

Jen.  A  little  reasou?  Well,  my  little  reason,  I'll  hear 
whatever  you  have  to  say,  though  I  think  you  are  quite 
big  enough  for  a  prune  ;  and  since,  my  dear,  you  put 
yoursslf  under  my  protection,  I'll  do  my  best  to  save 
you  from  this  modern  Blue  Beard.  Come  along  with 
me,  honey  ;  and  for  you,  sir,  allow  me  to  say,  since  you 
have  made  free  with  my  sister,  I  shall  take  your's  into 
keeping  ;  she'll  make  a  very  pretty  hostage.  Come 
along,  my  little  reason,  show  me  to  jour  chamber.  The 
girls  often  tell  me  I  am  as  sweet  as  an  almond,  and,  you 
know,  almonds  and  raisins  are  best  together  ;  so,  a  fig 
for  you,  old  Blue  Beard  ! 

[£iei(j((  I.ucinda  and  Jenny  Transit  into  No.  7,  CD.  F.,  and 
lock  the  door. 

Sir  R.  Here's  a  pretty  business  !  to  be  insulted  in  my 
own  apartments,  to  be  bullied  by  a  confounded  Irish 
brazen-face,  to  have  my  sister  forced  away  before  my 
eyes — locked  up  in  a  chamber  with  a  fellow,  whose 
national  characteristics  are  amorousness  and  impudence, 
—it's  too  bad  !  it's  past  endurance  !  and  all  this  for  the 
odious  Jenny.  1  must  take  some  steps  to  recover  her. 
Here,  Davy,  sound  an  alarum  !  —  Bring  hither  your 
kitchen  poker,  it  will  serve  for  a  battering  ram. 
Diwy.  [Withinu.]   E'es,  sir. 

Sir  R.  If  ever  it  should  be  my  lot  to  see  this  odious 
Jenny  more,  I  will  show  her  with  what  contempt  my  in- 
sulted pride  can  treat  her.  Why,  Davy,  I  say,  I  glow 
with  inipatience — I  paut — I  fum« — I  rage«~I  burn  t 


34  WINNING  A  HUSBAND.  [acT  L 

Enter  Davv,  with  a  rea-hot  puker,  and  burju  him. 

Dav.  I  expected  you  would,  sir. 

Sir  R.  Zounds  and  the  devil!  instantly  break  open 
yon  door  ; — a  vile  seducer  has  conveyed  my  sister  there, 
and  refuses  me  admittance. 

Diiry,  All,  them  sort  o'folk  don't  want  a  third  person  ; 
however,  we'll  soon  bring  their  wicked  deeds  to  light, 
and  so,  here  goes.     Come  forth,  thou  vile  seducerer  ! 

[Breaks  opeti  the  dnor  and  liiscmeis  Jennu  Tramit  in  a  morn' 
ing  dre>:i,  and  Lucinda  seated  on  a  snfa. 

Sir  R.  What  do  I  see  !~  Where  is" he  ?--Who  is  this  I 

Enter  Jennv  Transit  and  Lucinda, /rom  No.  7,  c.  d.  f. 

Jen.   No  vile  seducer,  but  your  obedient  servant. 

Luc,  Jenny  Transit,  at  your  service,  (^ome,  brother. 
I  told  you  I  could  put  you  in  a  way  to  obtain  all  the 
qualifications  you  have  admired  to-day.  And  now,  I 
trust,  I  have  put  their  possessor  in  a  way  to  obtain— 
you [CrwAM  to  R. 

Sir  R.  I  am  bewildered  !  enchanted  !  spell-bound  ! — 
It  is  she, — I  see  through  it  all.  She  has  put  on  these 
disguises  to  prove  to  me  how  superior  her  talents  and  ac- 
complishments are  to  what  I  have  given  her  credit  for. 

Duty.  Have  you  any  further  use  for  the  poker,  sir? 

Sir  R.  Oh,  no  !  never  mention  the  poker  again,  Davy  ! 

Davy.  Well,  she  ha'  won  him  fairly,  that's  sartin. 
Seven's  the  main,  they  say,  and,ecod  I  to  my  thinking, 
she  ha'  acted  her  seven  parts  main  well. 

Sir  R.  The  odds  have  been  against  me,  and  Tve  lost 
the  game. 

Jen.  I  am  glad  to  find  you  submit ;  and  now,  if  the 
gallant  cavaliers  will  forbear  to  quiz  us,  and  the  fair 
ladies  withhold  their  scandal,  we  may,  perhaps,  repeat 
our  game,  and  show  them  the  art  of  Winning  a  Husband. 

DISPOSITION  OF  THE  CHARACTERS  AT  THE 
FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN. 

Ldcinda«      Sie  Roderick.     Jenny  Transit.      Davy. 


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